#gotta love arthritis in joints or whatever

[regardingjenmish]

.

[chronicbeans]

Wally and a Puppeteer Reader (part 3)

My brain has gone on with this idea and I love where it is going. Yippee!

TW: Obsessive Behavior, Stalking, Scopophobia/Eye Imagery, Idol Worshipping

🎥 This has gone on long enough! In just a few weeks since that interview, the letters and pictures have increased tenfold! You keep finding Wally in the oddest of places, like on your desk, in the lounge, or even next to your locker. It constantly feels like eyes are watching you.

🎥 Even the contents of the letters are getting stranger. They were always odd and creepy, but at least before they had lighthearted words in them. Now they're saying things like "You're the air I breathe and all I see. You make my days better or worse. You keep me warm and keep this neighborhood bright! Please, never abandon me!" It's all written in that messy crayon writing, too, which makes an eerie contrast to the words that makes you sick. It seems so childishly unaware of how disturbing the words are when thought about for too long.

🎥 The drawings aren't much better. Nine out of ten times, they include you in some way. From the pictures just including you, including you and the characters from Welcome Home, to - worst of all, in your opinion - you in real life places. You sitting at your desk. You sleeping in the lounge. You getting a cookie at the snack stand during the interview. There's even one of you putting on your coat at the lockers. The drawings may not be the highest quality, but they are detailed enough to both be recognizable places and to alarm you.

🎥 You have an idea of who it might be. It's gotta be Wally's voice actor. They were his puppeteer before their arthritis kicked in. They just couldn't move their hands enough to properly puppet him anymore, always complaining that it hurt, despite the medications they took. But, the producer did decide to keep them as Wally's voice actor, saying that nobody could replicate his distinct laughter, tone of speech, and voice pitch. Despite this, Wally's voice actor was properly ticked and hated the fact they were replaced. They're always acting passive aggressive towards you. It must be them, probably to try to scare you away.

🎥 Today, you have decided to confront them. Marching over to their recording booth, you knock on the door. When they open it, they have that signature glare that would put even Frank's to shame. Before they can even ask what you want, you tell them all about what has been going on and how you know they have been doing it. They have to be behind it. All of these drawings and letters have Wally's signature writing and art style. The only person that knows Wally more than you is his voice actor. It HAS to be them!

🎥 They grow silent, before looking at the pictures and letters. Then, they look up at you and say, in the most matter of fact tone "I haven't been able to draw or write anything in character for a YEAR, (Y/N). What makes you think I would put myself through the pain of trying to replicate it after all this time, with my horrible joints, just to frighten YOU, of all people? You aren't worth my time, much less my comfort. You got any other evidence to accuse me of this... Whatever this is?"

🎥 You grow silent. To be honest, thinking back on it, it really is a stupid idea that they would do all of this to scare you. If they couldn't even muster up the energy to go out of their way to verbally confront you, then it would be shocking for them to put the effort to write and draw things to do so. You still have one more question, though...

🎥"What about the voice I've been hearing? It sounds just like Wally. You are his voice actor. You have gotta know something."

🎥 Their eyes grow wide. Then, they shrug "The one that has been saying things about... well, something. It's always a bit too muffled to hear exactly what it is. I thought you somehow improved your Wally impression and were practicing in order to replace me completely. Your impression may be off enough for the producers to care, but it was always the best one here. You're telling me you aren't the one making that voice?"

[orangeoctopi7]

Liars

Spider Stan AU Chapter 5 Hey guys, sorry it’s been a while, I’ve been distracted by other fandoms. Also trying to apply to Grad School again. As such, don’t expect the next chapter until after November.

It had only been a couple of days, but already Fiddleford was about ready to smack these brothers. They barely spoke to each other, and when they did, it was clear they were walking on eggshells. Every so often, either Stan or Ford would take a bitter tone with the other, and McGucket hoped they were on the brink of actually talking about their issues, but each time, it just resulted in a heated argument. Twice now, Stan had driven off in his car, and Ford had stormed out into the woods. Ford came back first, worrying that Stan had left for good this time. Each time Stan had eventually returned, murmuring that he knew Ford wanted to run more tests.

That was another thing that had been bothering McGucket. The tests they’d run the first day had been interesting, to be sure. Stan’s nervous system, his immune system, all of his senses, were faster than any normal human’s. But there was nothing to indicate that his mutation was continuing or that it had any ill effects on Stan. If anything, Stan was healthier than he should have been, considering his living conditions. But Ford insisted on running more each day. Testing the extent of Stan’s strength, his flexibility and reflexes, whether he could see in the dark, how he stuck to walls, anything, it seemed, that Ford could think of. Fiddleford couldn’t help but think this went far beyond just checking to make sure Ford’s brother wasn’t negatively affected by his mutation. 

McGucket decided to air his grievances while he and Ford were alone, looking at some X-rays of Stan’s hands.

“Incredible! Look at this!” Ford pointed to some faint lines running between the phalanges and metacarpals, “Normally, in a human being, these muscles are vestigial, useless. But Stan’s mutation somehow enlarged and invigorated them. That must be how he can hold himself up just by sticking to a wall!”

“Well, that certainly is fascinatin’.” McGucket agreed. “D’you think it’ll lead to overcrowding with his other muscles? Arthritis? Carpal-tunnel?” 

“Mmm, no. Stan’s hands are rather large and meaty. There should be plenty of room. And it actually lessens the stress on his joints.”

“I see....” McGucket nodded, making a mental note to try and replicate the effect on a robotic joint later. “Ford, don’t ya think this is beginnin’ to go well beyond jus’ lookin’ after yer brother’s health? It’s pretty clear he’s fit as a fiddle, heck, even more fit than yer average athlete!”

“Well… yes, but… there’s still more to do… to, uh, study the long-term effects…”

“Stanford, please, you gotta start bein’ honest with yerself. And with him!”

Ford flinched. “Him who?” he asked nervously.

“Your brother! Who else?”

“Oh. Of course. I-I mean…” the researcher huffed a short sigh. “I know, sooner rather than later, he’ll decide he’s had enough and leave. I’m just trying to learn as much as I can from him until then.”

“Well, he’s already left twice, and ya spent a good hour or so worryin’ he was never gonna come back.”

“Be-because if he leaves, we’ll lose a great research opportunity!”

“But he’s come back each time. Supposedly because he knows ya wanna run more tests on him.”

“Fiddleford, if you’re trying to make a point, would you please just get to it?”

“Alright, fine! You two keep dancin’ around yer issues, pretendin’ like yer jus’ here fer the sake of science, but it’s pretty obvious yer both hopin’ that somehow bein’ in the same place long enough is gonna somehow make everythin’ right. But it ain’t! Nothin’ about whatever bad blood you two got betwixt y’all is gonna get solved unless ya both sit down an’ talk. An’ I mean really talk, not jus’ yellin’ or bein’ passive-aggressive all the time.”

Ford was taken aback by his friend’s bluntness. He spluttered for a solid thirty seconds before finally shouting, “It is incredibly presumptuous of you to make assumptions as to why I choose to keep my brother around, let alone deem yourself qualified to offer me advice on how to conduct my own family matters! And while we may be old friends, I shouldn’t have to remind you that while you are here you are technically my employee. As such, keep your overly-large nose out of my personal business!”

“Personal business!? I’m the one who has to live with both of ya!” Fiddleford retorted, then stormed out of the lab.

“I’m not forcing you to stay here!” Ford shouted after him. “You could get a room at the motel if it bothers you that much!”

McGucket’s raging mood quickly dissipated as he took the elevator back up to the main floor. He hadn’t had an angry outburst like that in a while. He wasn’t nearly as short tempered as those Pines twins, but even the mild-mannered inventor just lost his cool sometimes. 

“Good to see I’m not the only one he has shouting matches with.” Stan commented from the chair sitting in front of the TV when McGucket passed. Oh right. Enhanced senses, including hearing.

“How much did you hear?” Fiddleford asked. 

“Eh, more the volume than actual words.” Stan shrugged.

McGucket briefly considered telling Stan how much Ford had worried each time he left, telling him exactly what he’d told his brother. But Fiddleford had a feeling Stan would have a very similar reaction, except the con man’s temper was even worse than his brother’s.

Instead he settled for a beleaguered “You two’re gonna drive me off the deep end.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for Ford to regret his words. Sure, he was mad that McGucket would try and wheedle his way into the brothers’ issues when the inventor clearly didn’t understand the complexities of their relationship, or the extent of the betrayal Ford still felt. But the inventor’s heart was in the right place, and he was the one who had to live with the feuding twins. And while Ford had been truthful in telling Fiddleford he was free to leave, that certainly didn’t mean Ford wanted him to go. Just the opposite, in fact.

Stanford had never felt lonely after moving out to the woods of Gravity Falls, oh no. He’d kept far too busy exploring and studying for that. But after Fiddelford had moved in, the researcher found he preferred his friend’s company to solitude.

Of course, if McGucket were to move out now, Ford would not be returning to solitude. He’d be sharing his cabin with Stanley.

Stanford decided he really needed to apologize to Fiddleford.

The researcher hastily put away the x-rays and the other print-outs he’d be going over and rushed into the elevator. He hummed impatiently as it creeped back up to ground level. Once he reached the kitchen, he rummaged around the pantry until he found a can of those baked beans McGucket liked, heated it up over the stove, and began searching for his roommate so he could extend the peace offering.

He found McGucket just as the researcher was finishing a conversation over the phone.

“...Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll leave as soon as I can. See ya soon. I gotta go sugar.” He said when he saw Ford enter the hall. “Love ya.” He hung up the phone.

“You’re leaving?” Ford asked, trying not to sound hurt. He’d known his harsh words would probably come back to bite him, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon!

“Uh, that’s right…” Fiddelford began awkwardly. “I jus’ spoke with Emma-May an’--” 

“Fiddleford, I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have yelled, and I certainly shouldn’t have insinuated you might be fired, or insulted you. But please, don’t leave!” Ford pleaded. “I’ll admit, the situation with Stanley is volatile, but that’s why I need you here now!”

“Calm down, calm down!” McGucket placated him. “I ain’t leavin’ fer more’n a few days. I was tryin’ to tell ya, Emma-May’s sick, an’, well, she needs me to come take care of Tate ‘til she gets better.”

“O-oh.” Ford squeaked out once his mind processed what his friend was saying. McGucket was leaving, but it wasn’t because he was mad, it was because of a family emergency. That was almost worse. Ford could try and apologize or talk his friend out of it if he was mad, but the researcher couldn’t, wouldn’t, try and stop his friend from taking care of his family.

“What’s goin’ on?” Stan peeked into the hall, checking to see what all the commotion was about.

“Oh, uh, I was just tellin’ Ford I gotta head back home to help take care’a things while my wife’s sick.”

Stan scrutinized McGucket carefully, taking in his expression and stance, before glancing at Ford briefly. “Uh-huh.” the con-man grunted.

“So, I’ll be leavin’ soon as I get packed. Are… are you gonna be fine here, just the two of ya?”

“Sure, mom.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Ford folded his arms defensively.

“That’s not really what I’m worried ‘bout.” McGucket muttered under his breath. “Oh! Are those baked beans?” He exclaimed, like he’d only just noticed the pan Ford was carrying, “I think I’ll go eat these before I pack.”

With that, the inventor made his way to the kitchen, leaving the two brothers alone, with the fact that they were about to spend a lot more time alone together hanging over them.

Stan shook his head. “He’s a bad liar.” he said as soon as McGucket was out of ear-shot.

“What!?” Ford spluttered. “He’s not--”

“Just callin’ it as I see it.”

“He’s coming back!” the researcher insisted, even as his own thoughts doubted “He wouldn’t just leave…” He wouldn’t just leave me like this.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough.” Stan agreed. “But his wife ain’t sick.”

“Oh, and is that another thing your ‘Spider Sense’ can detect?” Ford asked sarcastically. Ever since Stan had interrupted one of his visions with Bill, the researcher didn’t have a high opinion of that particular ability.

“Nah. You lie enough, and you get pretty good at tellin’ when other people are doin’ it. If his wife was really sick, you’d think he’d be a lot more concerned. I mean, you’ve mentioned he has issues with anxiety, but he doesn’t seem all that anxious about it. He did seem keen on gettin’ out of here before we could ask him more questions about what’s wrong with her.”

“I think that if you lie enough, you start to assume everyone else must be lying too.” Ford said icily. Although he couldn’t help but remember a time a few years back when Fiddleford had gotten news his mother was sick. His poor friend had been so worried, he’d barely eaten the day he got the news.

“Whatever.” Stan harrumphed and turned back down the hall. “Honestly, I can’t blame the guy for wantin’ a break from all of this.” He gestured back and forth to himself and his brother. “Anyway, I’m gonna go see if there’s any of those baked beans left.”

* * *

That night, Ford had a hard time falling asleep. Stan’s wrong. He kept telling himself. But a part of him couldn’t help wondering, But what if he’s right? What if all this tension with Stan is driving Fiddleford away? What if he doesn’t come back? 

When he finally did fall asleep, Ford was glad to find Bill waiting for him. He could really use a little help from a friend right now.

“HUH, YOU’RE LATER THAN USUAL. I DON’T THINK YOU’VE HAD THIS MUCH TROUBLE FALLING ASLEEP SINCE THE HAUNTED CABIN.”

“Sorry, I’m just really stressed right now, what with everything that’s going on with Stan and McGucket.”

“HEY, I WARNED YOU BRINGING YOUR BROTHER BACK HERE WOULD BE BITING OFF MORE THAN YOU COULD CHEW.”

“It’s not.” Ford said defensively, “I mean, yes, I’m a little more stressed than usual, but I can handle it.”

“OH SURE.” Bill rolled his eye, “THAT’S WHY YOU’VE KEPT WORKING ON THE PORTAL, OH WAIT! YOU HAVEN’T! AND NOW THE GUY WE NEED TO ACTUALLY START THE BUILDING PROCESS IS LEAVING!”

“That’s unfortunate, yes, but it’s not McGucket’s fault. His… his wife’s sick.” Ford explained, although there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“YEAH, NO. YOUR BROTHER MAY BE AN UNTRUSTWORTHY LEACH, BUT HE WAS RIGHT ABOUT ONE THING. FOUR-EYES WAS LYING TO YOU.” 

“Hey, Stan’s not--”

“OH, ARE YOU SAYING I’M WRONG? ME? THE ALL-SEEING EYE?”

“No, of course not!”

“HERE, I’LL SHOW YOU!”

Bill’s yellow bricks flickered like a television screen, and suddenly Ford was watching McGucket’s conversation on the phone earlier, from the perspective of one of the many effigies of Bill he had hanging in the house.

“Hey sugar, it’s me!” Fiddleford began the conversation. “Yeah, things’re, uh, things’re goin’ great here. But, you’ll never believe what happened last week! We were in Portland, doin’ some, er, some research, an’ guess what? Stanford ran into his twin brother!” 

He paused and listened to her reply. “Yeah, he don’t talk ‘bout it much. They ain’t seen each other in over ten years. Anyway they, uh, need some time to re-connect, So I’m gonna head home, jus’ so’s I can give ‘em some space fer a bit.”

Another pause. “Aw, naw, Ford said it’s fine! I don’t think it’ll be a problem! And besides, this way I’ll be home fer Tate’s first spring break!”

“...Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll leave as soon as I can. See ya soon. I gotta go sugar.” He said when he saw Ford enter the hall. “Love ya.”

Ford shook his head in disbelief. “I-I don’t know what to say…” 

“WHAT’D I TELL YA, FORDSY? I’M THE ONLY ONE YOU CAN TRUST!”

On one hand, he was hurt that his friend would lie to him like that, but on the other, it was clear that poor Fiddleford just wanted to spend some time with his family, and Ford could hardly begrudge him that. All the same, there were those same thoughts that had been keeping him up earlier, only here in the Dreamscape, they echoed around him in surround-sound.

It’s my fault. I’m driving him away, all because I can’t get along with my own brother!

“AW, DON’T FEEL SO BAD, SIXER!” Bill patted him on the back comfortingly. “IF THIS IS ANYBODY’S FAULT, IT’S YOUR DUMB BROTHER. HE’S THE ONE WHO BARGED BACK INTO YOUR LIFE JUST WHEN WE WERE ON THE BRINK OF CHANGING THE WORLD.”

“I know you don’t like me spending so much time studying Stan’s mutation. But it’s so incredible! We’ve only just scratched the surface of what he’s capable of! I know with just a little time and training, he could even help us build the portal!”

Bill didn’t look convinced. “FORGIVE ME IF I’M NOT SOLD ON BRINGING THE GUY WHO SMASHED YOUR SPIDER HABITAT TO SMITHEREENS INTO CONTACT WITH THE DELICATE WORKINGS OF A TRANSUNIVERSAL PORTAL.”

Ford frowned. “I know, but… but ever since I learned that Stan’s the Spider Man, I’m beginning to think… maybe he’s changed.”

“HA!” Bill laughed sharply. “I NEVER TOOK YOU FOR A SENTIMENTAL FOOL, STANFORD!”

“I’m serious!”

“I KNOW! THAT’S WHY IT’S SO HILARIOUS!” But Bill noticed Ford wasn’t taking this not-so-good-natured ribbing well. “HEY, DON’T LOOK SO SERIOUS, IQ, IT’S JUST THAT YOUR HUMAN SENTIMENTALITY IS SO FAR OUTSIDE MY PRIORITIES. IF YOU’RE SO DEAD-SET ON IT, GO AHEAD AND INCLUDE YOUR BROTHER IN ON THE PROJECT. EVEN IF HE DOES MESS THINGS UP AGAIN, YOU’VE GOT ME FOR DAMAGE CONTROL THIS TIME.”

“Thank you, Bill, I’ll do my best to make sure Stan doesn’t cause too much trouble.”

* * *

Once again, Stan woke in the middle of the night, his Spider Sense twinging. He was really getting tired of this. Not wanting another wild goose chase like his first night here, the conman tried just sitting quietly and concentrating on the unfamiliar sensation. It was so unlike his usual Spider Sense, and yet… somehow he knew it was the same sense. 

Maybe this was a newly developing power, like Ford had predicted. Unfortunately, waking Ford in the middle of the night seemed to have ticked him off so much that now Ford didn’t want to hear anything about the Spider Sense. And McGucket had left earlier that evening. So Stan was going to have to figure this out on his own. Ha. That wasn’t any different from his other powers.

As Stan sat focusing on the strange sensation for a few minutes, he finally though he could place a direction to it. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, but there was definitely one direction where it was the strongest. It was coming from downstairs.

Stan followed the sensation as quietly as he could, which was pretty darn quietly. It led him to Ford’s bedroom.

“Oh no, we’re not doin’ this again.” Stan muttered to himself. Ford had been mad enough the first time. Twice in one week, and he was sure to be kicked out. But still, he couldn’t help wondering what was going on. Was Ford in some kind of danger? Or maybe… Ford was the danger?

“Great, now my Spider Sense is trying to protect me from emotional harm.” Stan grumbled to himself as he climbed the wall back up to the attic.

* * *

Dbae’k rwou se apfleqnx dtirj. Swt tyw xwrv jpisff ew gvl cqd fx sqm. Sme pon lz oek Ktfei lz bhigh bhzk mqg Dsnseiww jatc tvtf lsm svs?

[tomfev]

Fallout OC Companion Meme

i wasnt tagged im just feral

this is my oc thom$on (pronounced thom dolla son) feat. my bad art. as you can tell, he likes money. prewar, he was a rich man who threw himself into becoming successful in order to mentally and physically escape from the trauma in his childhood. he closed himself off emotionally and never let anyone close to him until years later. he has ties to many shady government operations, perhaps most prominently west-tek’s FEV experimentation.

hes a ghoul in every game except 76, and always wears his money leather jacket. he keeps his mustache and a bit of his hair even though he’s been ghoulified. he has a deep voice with a southern accent (like a mixture of augustus autumn from fo3 and augustus sinclair from bioshock 2). hes pretty overweight even as a ghoul bc i say so. skinny thom$on is cursed

he’s actually a companion in pretty much every main series game, so this meme seemed like something i had to do. anyway, his personality develops a lot over the course of the fallout games, so a lot of this changes in between games. as such, im gonna separate certain things by game

NAME:

Thomson Jr. “Thom$on” Theodore Williams (dont call him thomson, thomson jr or anything like that he will go sicko mode)

AGE:

116 (fo1), 196 (fo2), 232 (fo3), 236 (fnv), 242 (fo4)

COMPANION PERK:

(fo1-2) One-Hit Solidarity- Increases critical hit chance when fighting human enemies.

(fo3-4) Breadwinner- Increases damage dealt to enemies when health is below 25%.

WEAPON OF CHOICE:

Ranged-Caravan Shotgun; Melee- Sledgehammer

I THINK WE SHOULD TRAVEL TOGETHER:

(fo1-2) “Better be some pay in it for me… One-Hit Williams doesn’t work for free.” [He does anyway.]

(fo3) [Anxious, but trying to hide it] “Oh, sounds like fun, kiddo. Let’s get these caps.”

(fnv) “Don’t be keepin’ me out all day, I got a family to tend to… lord knows Rob has no earthly idea how to deal with children…”

(fo4) [Sighs heavily.] “Ugh, I’m too old for this... I’m a great-grandpa, y’know that?”

USE MELEE:

(fo1-2) “...Melee? Melee. Y’know that I’m famous for shooting people, yeah? That’s, like, my thing.”

(fo3-4) [Visibly winces.] “Uh… I’m over 200 years old and have rheumatoid arthritis, but aight…”

USE RANGED:

(fo1-2) “Hell yeah, it’s One-Hit time!”

(fo3-4) “Oh, good… that was hell on my knees. And hands. Uh, hand, actually. 4 fingers. Don’t try to befriend unfamiliar dogs, kid.” [Shudders.]

OPEN INVENTORY:

(fo1-2) “I only take large bills.”

(fo3) “Here, take whatever you want. Just not the jacket, aight?” (fnv-4) [Excited to talk about his husband’s creation.] “The robot hand’s detachable, my darling husband Robert made it for me. See, it’s got my Pip-Boy in it.”

STAY CLOSE:

(fo1-2) “No promises, but aight. Don’t get too close, though. I, uh, gotta be able to aim.”

(fo3-4) [Sounds like a dad.] “I’ll protect ya, kid, don’t worry.”

KEEP DISTANCE:

(fo1-2) [Sighs in relief.] “Good, I was gettin’ tired of all this closeness... “

(fo3-4) [Concerned.] “You sure? I really don’t mind coverin’ ya, kid…”

STEALTH:

(fo1-2) “Sure, ask the fat old guy to sneak around. Nice plan, chief.”

(fo3-4)  [Groans.] “Oh god, my knees… kids these days... “

BACK UP:

(fo1-2) “Williams doesn’t back up for no one, kiddo. Unless there’s a Deathclaw in front of him. Then he backs up.” (fo3-4) “Aight… sorry if I’m bein’ too protective, just a habit.”

BE PASSIVE:

(fo1-2) “I’m a hitman, can’t promise nothin’. But guess I’ll try… ‘s nice to relax a bit sometimes.”

(fo3-4) [Sighs and stretches.] “‘Kay, kid… I’m a bit jumpy, so I might shoot at whatever moves anyway.”

BE AGGRESSIVE:

(fo1-2) “Shooting on sight, chief. Better hope you don’t make any sudden moves...” (fo3-4) “You ever think ‘bout how these guys we kill might have families?” [Pauses.] “Uh, don’t mind that, let’s get movin’.”

USE STIMPACK:

(fo1-2) “Uh, thanks. I guess. Coulda gotten one myself…” (fo3-4) “Sure ya don’t need this for yourself? I’m fine, I been hurt before…”

WAIT HERE:

(fo1-2) “I’m not one for standin’ still, chief… fine, but don’t take too long or I’ll leave ya.” (fo3-4) “Oh, thank god… my old bones’re screamin’... ow…” [Sits down on the ground.]

FOLLOW ME:

(fo1-2) “I oughta charge you for keepin’ me out here that long…”

(fo3-4) [Groans as he stands up.] “This is the cruelest form of torture…”

DISMISSED:

(fo1-2) “Aight, guess I’ll get myself a drink, tackle a few jobs… see ya, chief.” (fo3-4) [Concerned.] “You sure you’re gonna be okay on your own? It’s real dangerous out here in the wasteland alone…”

SEND TO FOLLOWER BASE:

(fo1-2) “Ugh, fine… Williams out.” (fo3-4) [Dramatic.] “God, you’re gonna have to carry me, kid…”

ENEMIES (LONG RANGE):

(fo1-2) “Hey, shithead! Get a load of this!” “I’m gonna put so much lead in your face that metal detectors’ll detect ya all the way from China!”

(fo3-4) “Oh, for the love of… kid, get behind me…” “Get away from ‘em, ya bastard!”

ENEMIES (CLOSE RANGE):

(fo1-2) “My mustache’s the last thing you’ll ever see!” “I’m Tom Williams, bitch!”

(fo3-4) “I ain’t lettin’ this bastard hurt ya, kiddo!” “Oh, fuck off…”

INJURED:

(fo1-2) “Agh! I’m fine, chief, I got 3 more fingers!” “Fuck- I meant to do that!” (fo3-4) “Ow… shit… old joints ain’t made for this…” “I’m fine, keep goin’! Just a paper cut.. or somethin’ like that…”

DEATH:

(fo1-2) “Fuck… not yet… still gotta...” [Weakly throws up his middle finger.] “Williams… out…”

(fo3-4) “No… no, please… Robert…” “Kid... leave me ‘n run…”

AGGRESSION: aggressive/not aggressive

CONFIDENCE: cowardly/cautious/average/brave/foolhardy

ASSISTANCE: helps nobody/helps allies/helps friends and allies

KARMA:

(fo1-2) hes got evil karma, hes out to kill people just to get money and for fame. just about nothing bothers him, but he will get annoyed if you’re overly generous or kind to people. its hard for him to comprehend why youd ever want to give up your money and/or time for others, especially strangers.

(fo3-4) neutral karma. he isnt a saint, but if you murder or hurt innocents or steal from the weak he’ll get pissed at you. blowing up megaton, for example, is one way to get him to immediately leave you, no questions asked.

[a-timeless-love]

Scorpion 3x17: Dirty Seeds, Done Dirt Cheap

Scorpion faces their deepest, darkest fears.

“To steal Happy’s line, ‘not good,’” says Toby.

No one ever adopted Happy.

She’s the only child no one adopted.

Happy’s biggest fear is that Toby will reject her too.

Toby is her one last shot at a forever home.

Toby’s full attention turns completely toward Happy and the full psychotic break the love of his life is having.

All Toby can do is watch as his fiancé’s heart breaks.

“No, you promised to be with me for life! You proposed to me!” Happy exclaims.

“But I’m perfect for you,” she cries.

Happy is on the brink of death.

Because Toby knows his “little princess” best,

he gets in her head and talks her lucid.

In her dream, he appears as an eight-year-old boy at the orphanage.

Tobias introduces himself and asks if she has anything to eat. She gives him what’s left of her tuna fish sandwich from lunch.

Happy says, “I like your hat. I like you.” and he says “I like you, too.” He asks her to marry him. She says, “Uhh we just met and we’re eight.”

Toby drops the façade. “You know who I am,” he says. “And my biggest regret in life is that we really didn’t meet when we were eight, cus I would’ve fallen in love with you from that moment. The truth is you’ve never been alone. My love for you has always been there, it just took a while for our paths to cross so I could share it with you. And under all those neurotoxins in your head you know I’m right. You have nothing to be scared of, ever.”

Later that night, back home, Happy dreams of them holding hands as they walk back to the orphanage and fall in love as little kids. After the rough day she had, she deserves such sweet dreams.

Sylvester is afraid of chickens!

Paige has maybe a little too much fun playing along and teasing Sly, as the voice of his childhood bully, Bucky. 

With the full support of his family, the cyclone, Sly will get the votes to win this election!

Badass, ex-football playing Marine, Cabe Gallo is a proud, older gentleman who enjoys steak, Conway Twitty, and getting senior discounts.

Cabe has got himself a girlfriend.

Cabe’s nightmare is his life is like an old 50s sitcom where the woman is too good-looking for the guy. He hallucinates he’s married to Allie, who is so mean(!!!) to him about his age. She tells him, “You were alive for so long before electricity was invented it’s still new to you,” “We could watch Jurassic Park! Might bring back some memories for you” and “What should I expect from a man whose social security number is one?”

With Paige’s help, self-improvement is Walter’s new passion.

Walter and Paige revisit the frozen yogurt shop where Walter was punched.

Walter apologizes to the vendor with whom he had a miscommunication.

Toby thinks the most logical thing is for Walter and Paige to just be good friends and that they won’t be anything more.

Much to Toby‘s surprise, Paige’s worst nightmare is Walter making out with another woman / Walter off the market and therefore not an option for her!

Happy, Sly, and Cabe are locked in vaults!

Happy, Sly, and Cabe fall unconscious.

Happy, Sly, and Cabe need to wake the f*** up!!!

They need immediate medical care or they’ll never wake up from their comas. In the middle of nowhere tundra, with the closest hospital two hours away and their doctor on another continent, Walter and Paige are up a creek without a paddle.

Toby is so smart! He figures out how to create a life-saving treatment.

Walter SMASHES a lamp!

The sparks from the electrical wires accidentally cause a chemical fire! If any of the purple flames reach the door, to the tunnel filled with very flammable oxygen, the whole building will blow to pieces! Kaboom! The flames Walter and Paige aren’t hallucinating are spreading. The unconscious members of Scorpion will suffer permanent neurological damage if they do not get treatment within the next few minutes, IF they survive the impending explosion!

If someone had to die, who should?

Best Guest: RAY!!!!!

Best Dressed:

Hottest:

Cutest Couple/Death of Me:

Best Lines:

Toby: How to Get Your Point Across in 30 Seconds or Less.

Allie: I feel like it’s my fault. Toby: It is. 

Sly: I’ll tell Mr. Wiener! Happy: I don’t want to know what he was dreaming about. Sly: I was dreaming that it was the debate but jocks from my middle school were snapping their towels at me. Toby: Mr. Weiner? Sly: My middle school gym teacher. Toby: Thank God. Sly: In my dream, my boxers were made of pimento loaf. What does that mean? Toby: That you’re messed up.

Sylvester: Here is Sylvester - a chicken afraid of chickens.

Sylvester: It was terrifying.  

Walter: Saying sorry is not a sign of weakness; it is a sign of strength.

Walter: Fear is irrational. You’re gonna scare yourself out of this election. 

Cabe: Grandpas look cute in their glasses.

Paige: I don’t get the reference. Cabe: God, I’m a dinosaur.

Paige (to Cabe): You’re a darn good looking man with a ton to offer.

Paige: Best tires have some wear on them, right? Cabe: No, people prefer new tires. 

Toby: I wanted to thank you for the yogurt. Also, I wanted to add… Paige: I know exactly what you’re gonna say. You and Walter have been spending lots of time together, does that mean you’re more than just friends? Answer: We’re not. Toby: Actually, I wanted to say that I think you’re doing a terrific job. Getting 197 to apologize?! That is amazing work. Paige: Thank you. Toby: De nada. Now if you’ll just hand over one of those froyos. Paige: Not til after lunch. 

Paige: You stay toasty while we freeze our tails off? Toby: If the snow shoe fits.

Sly: Well this isn’t spooky at all.

Happy: You don’t need to warn me about getting lost in the blizzard. Been there, done that. 

Happy: You don’t want to wander the dark tunnels alone? Sly: I’d prefer not to. 

Paige: I worry about his maturity level. Walter: Don’t. Ralph’s very responsible. Paige: I was talking about Toby. 

Ralph: There were no pirates on the Delaware. 

Ralph: What Washington did was illogical. They were outnumbered, terrible weather… Toby: That’s exactly why he did it. He needed a bold move that no one saw coming. He faced his fear, he took action, and he was victorious! 

Ralph: I know he likes my mom and the logical thing is to ask her out and the most common thing to beat logic is fear, so I figured he never asked her out cus he was scared.  

Toby: I’m not trying to poop on your parade. 

Toby: Let’s turn that frown upside down. You wanna eat everyone else’s froyo? 

Paige: What the hell’s in there with him?! Get him out of there! 

Paige: What’s wrong with him? Walter: I have no idea, but I know who to ask. 

Toby: Bona fide fear responses 

Toby: There are no chickens in there with you. Sly: They are all over! The cameras must be broken or something! 

Ralph: What’s wrong with Sylvester? Toby: I don’t know buddy. But whatever it is it’s serious. 

Cabe: My arthritis is acting up. Toby: You don’t have arthritis, Cabe. Cabe: Tell that to my hand. I’ve been trying to flip this breaker and it won’t budge. Joints are killing me. Toby: Again, they shouldn’t be because you don’t have arthritis. 

Toby: Happy, listen to me. Anything you might be starting to feel is not real. It’s all in your head. Happy: Sorry, I gotta go. The bell just rang. Toby: What bell? There’s no bell. Happy, Happy there’s no bell. 

Ms. Weldy: Prospective parents who are looking for that very special child to help them form a family. 

Ms. Weldy: Best behavior, they will be watching. 

Ms. Weldy: No wrenches, no wratchets 

Ms. Weldy: A proper toy for a proper lady (a doll). 

Happy: I’ll be better this time, Ms. Weldy. 

Toby: Who the hell’s Ms. Weldy?! 

Ralph: I’ll hack public databases, see if I can find a Ms. Weldy connected to Happy in some way. Toby: She’s my fiancé, I’ll do it.

Toby: Don’t go full zombie on me! 

Allie: Arthritis acting up again, honey? Cabe: It’s killing me. Allie: Still working the fuse box? Cabe: I’m having trouble with it.

Cabe: What kind of casserole is that? Allie: Kale, flaxseed, macrobiotic grains.

Cabe: I’m not hungry. Let’s curl up on the couch and watch a movie.

Allie: A new club opened up and I’m going dancing. You wouldn’t want to come, would you? Cabe: Me, dancing? No, I can’t go dancing, on account of my arthritis.

Toby: He’s gonna wish the only thing he has to worry about is arthritis. 

Sylvester: foul fowl.

Sly: Back away hens, I will deep fry the lot of you. 

Toby: If you don’t listen to my instructions you are going to die. 

Cabe: Don’t I know you? Ray: I don’t know. Do you? It’s your hallucination, brother. 

Ray: So old he got a special thanks in the Bible.

Ray: His birthday candles caused global warming.

Ray: If he were to act his age he’d drop dead right here.  

Ray: Which of the following things would Allie be shocked to learn didn’t exist when Cabe was born? Manned space travel, portable calculators, or tape cassettes? Answer: All of these. All of these things didn’t exist when Cabe was born, a full decade and a half before his current girlfriend.

Ray: What grade was Allie in when you married your first wife?

Cabe: Allie likes me just the way I am. Ray: All shriveled? Don’t think so. 

Cabe: I don’t want to play this game. Ray: Well nobody does, but we all have to play it eventually.  

Ms. Weldy: Wonderful news, children. So many of you have found your forever homes. When I read out your names you can go and meet your new mothers and fathers. 

Toby: If a match is never struck, a fire can never burn.

Happy: Hello. I’m Happy. Dr Curtis: Are you? I’m a doctor of psychiatric medicine and I can tell right away you’re not happy. Happy: I’m just nervous, Doc. Toby: Doc?! Oh crap, she’s talking to me!

Dr Curtis: If I commit to her I’m stuck with her for the rest of my life? There’s got to be something wrong with her if she’s here, right? Happy: I try hard. I’m just a little different from the other kids.

Dr Curtis: Quick to anger. Volatile. I think I’d regret this decision.  

Toby: She’s been alone since she was a child and I’m gonna put an end to that.

Tobias: I like Evel Knievel. Happy: I want a motorcycle one day.

Happy: No. I don’t care. Besides, I knew that nobody would want me cus I’m defective.

Tobias: We just exited the 90s. The Spice Girls had number one hits. Half the women in America are wearing a haircut called the Rachel and everyone’s investing in a website called AskJeeves. This is a decade where everyone’s making bad decisions, so anyone who doesn’t want you in their life that’s just another bad decision.

“Bucky”: Look at Sylvester hiding in a coop, just where a chicken should be…. Come out so I can pluck your feathers…. Aw, you want to go tell the teacher? Go pull this lever and go tell them!

“Bucky”: Coward! I knew all those stories about you weren’t true…. You jumped out of a plane, captured a poisonous snake, helped save a boy from a sinkhole…. No, you didn’t you wenie! Don’t dispute the facts! …Why is a hero hiding from chickens? I think it’s time you reconsider your facts, bucko.

Sly: Fact: I leapt off of a cruise ship. Fact: I went into a cave full of bats. Fact: I punched a man in the face in prison. Fact: What you did to me in sixth grade was mean, but I’m not scared of you anymore. Cus I’m a man and I can be brave sometimes, you little turd. And I’m still telling on you.

Walter: With age comes experience, knowledge, and wisdom. What you’ve forgotten others will never know and what you’ve lived others only read about. What you can do others can only dream about.

Cabe: God, is that you? You sound a lot less confident than I thought you’d be. Walter: That’s because I’m worried about you, but I shouldn’t be.

Paige: We have to go through ergot-saturated pathways. We’ll wind up whacked out and like how they were. Walter: Not if we don’t breathe in heavily contaminated air. 

Toby: If you start seeing pink elephants, know that they are not real. 

Cabe: I had a messed up dream. 

Sly: Chickens! 

Happy: Dirty hippies, gross.

Paige: Let’s go home.

Patel: Guess I scared Mr. Dodd off. Sly: I don’t scare that easy. 

Sly: I would like to apologize for my lateness. I was out of the country, working for Homeland. Patel: For the record, Mr. Dodd is not employed by Homeland. He’s only an independent contractor. 

Moderator: The comic book store seems to be the basis of your platform, so please address it. 

Sly: I believe that eminent domain is abuse of government power. Patel: Really? Was it an abuse when the Erie Canal was built? Sly: No, but it’s not 1825 and the stakes are a lot smaller than enabling the American shipping industry to get from the Atlantic to the Mid-West. The matter at hand is taking private property to help not the populace, but a big box store. Patel: The kind of store grown-ups go to.

Sly: I had a tough childhood. I was picked on. Make-believe was my refuge. I found solace amongst the fantasy and I would gather up my courage to face another day. And trust me, when I was a kid I needed courage just to show up at school. And I need it now for my job. But the difference is, with Scorpion, I have a team to help me remember that I can be brave. And if The Warlock’s Chest will provide refuge for more kids who don’t know they’re brave yet, well, I want it to stick around.

Patel: Brave? You ran away from your problems by hiding in a comic store. Sounds chicken to me. Sly: Chicken? Sir, I know chickens. I have been around chickens. And I sir am no chicken.

Cabe: No Vegan Thrill. I hate that place. Allie: Been there a dozen times. Cabe: Hated it every time. 

Cabe: I hate kale.

Cabe: I’m really crazy about is you. You’re the first woman I’ve really enjoyed being with in a long time. But I’ve got to know that you’re comfortable with me the way I am - a little weathered and stronger for it. Cus I can’t change who I am and I wouldn’t want to. Those years make me who I am. Allie: I like classic cars, vintage clothes, Sinatra. You fit right in my wheelhouse, Mr. Gallo. 

Walter: See a fear of yours? Paige: No. Maybe. No. It was nothing. I got to get some air. 

Tobias: I like your pigtails. Did you know the term pigtail comes from a twist of chewing tobacco? Happy: Just shut up and you can hold my hand. Tobias: Offer accepted.  

[delibleink]

Indelible

tw: attempted suicide

“So I was thinking I should just fuck it and ask for the raise, you know?”

Ridley struggled to open the cardboard carton of .38 Special’s. He used his teeth to try and pull the flap of the lid out while Eleanor topped off her scotch. “Don’t know why you didn’t just do it last week like I told you,” Ridley said. “Can’t hurt. Your boss loves you.”

Eleanor held out her hand and asked for the box. Ridley passed it over the table and rolled his eyes when she used her sharp nails to flip the lid open. She smirked at him and shook the bullets around. “My boss doesn’t love me. He just appreciates the work I do. That doesn’t mean he’s gonna give me an extra 5k.”

After a few seconds of rifling through the box, he placed one bullet on the table. “Okay, fine, but you deserve a raise. You fucking shed blood for that piece of shit everyday. It’s the least he can do.”

Eleanor shook her head and knocked back her drink. “I have to make it sound like I’m grateful, though. Not like I’m entitled. I read online that turns people off.”

Ridley slid the lone bullet into the chamber of the revolver before turning to the side, closing his eyes, and spinning it. Once the whirring ceased, he clicked the chamber closed and cocked the gun. “Well don’t go running in there demanding shit. But you gotta make it clear that there are perks to paying you more. Like, you’ll work harder.” Ridley slid the barrel of the gun into his mouth, pulled the trigger, and heard the decisive click of an empty chamber. He sighed and slid the revolver across the table. “Seriously, Elle. Make yourself sound like an investment.”

Eleanor took the revolver and wiped the tip of the barrel with the edge of her sleeve. “I guess. I just don’t like coming off like I’ve got a big head. It’s literally just because we need the cash. I couldn’t give less of a shit about me being an investment or whatever.” She placed the barrel inside of her mouth, cocked the gun, and took a deep breath before pulling the trigger. Another click. An empty barrel.

She slid the revolver back and Ridley plucked it back up, this time deciding to press the tip of the barrel to his right temple. “Jesus, stop over thinking this,” Ridley scolded. “Just ask for the damn raise. If he says no, he says no. It’s not like he’ll fire you.” Click. Ridley passed the gun back.

Eleanor nodded before pressing the gun to the underside of her chin. Click. Pass. “That’s true...alright. I’m gonna ask tomorrow.”

Ridley mimicked Eleanor and placed the gun underneath his chin as well. “Good. Because you keep bringing this up when it literally doesn’t—”

BAM!

Eleanor jumped and nearly spilled her scotch on her shirt. She looked up just in time to see violent spatters of blood and grey matter explode out of the top of Ridley’s head and drizzle down onto the tabletop. The blood bloomed across the wallpaper behind him and chunks of bone and flesh were dripping down the wall and onto the floor. Ridley’s forehead fell onto the tabletop with a dull thunk and the gun clattered to the ground. Eleanor saw the exit wound on top of Ridley’s head and watched as blood continued to trickle out of it.

She topped off her glass again and took a large gulp. She raised a brow at the still body before her. “You good?”

There was no movement for a few seconds, but the muscles in Ridley’s hand pulsed and flexed before his index finger finally came up in a silent gesture asking Eleanor to wait a moment. His forehead rolled back and forth against the table before Ridley lifted his head and sat back in his chair, coughing and hacking into the crook of his elbow. He prodded the roof of his mouth with his tongue and ran a hand over the entry wound on the bottom of his chin that had already started to heal. “Fuck, that one hurt!”

Eleanor snorted and stared at the wallpaper behind him. “Yeah you also fucked up the wallpaper. Again.”

Ridley frowned, reached under the table, and retrieved the gun that he had dropped. “You were supposed to put up the plastic tarps on the wall too. We definitely said we’d do that next time.”

Eleanor shrugged and placed her glass to the side. “Whatever. What’s the score now? 7 to 5?”

Ridley smirked as he loaded another bullet into the chamber. “I’m still winning.”

“Only because you’re the one who keeps spinning the barrel. Hand it the fuck over, you’re cheating.”

“That you’re complaining about a game of pure chance is ridiculous. You’re just mad because you’re losing.”

“Hand it over.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Ridley reached across the table, took Eleanor’s glass, and filled it with more scotch as Eleanor spun the barrel and clicked the chamber closed. “You better ask for that raise tomorrow. I’m so done hearing you complain.”

Eleanor noticed the aging problem first. Her best friend from primary school would call her on the evenings, complaining about the arthritis the doctor had found in her hands. Meanwhile, Eleanor would be prodding at her elastic skin in the mirror, realizing she hadn’t looked or felt any different than she did ten years prior. Ridley had noticed a separate but equally peculiar situation during his time growing up in California when a mining accident left him with a steel bar lodged straight into his chest. An excruciating extraction aside, the wound closed up neatly right before his eyes, and Ridley walked back to his home, a perfect vision of health.

It wasn’t until Ridley and Eleanor met in California — when Ridley noticed his hair wasn’t greying  and when Eleanor survived an almost universally lethal carriage accident — that they realized they were one and the same. Two peculiar anomalies flitting through the world on a plane of existence far removed from the ticking time bombs they passed everyday.

The rules were unclear even to them. Bruises and cuts were non-existent, yet Eleanor caught flus nearly every year. Their joints never ached and their muscles were never sore, but Ridley always got migraines after a long day of work. The exceptions and contradictions were too plentiful to keep track of, and Eleanor and Ridley silently agreed that ignorance on the subject neither added nor took anything away from them. Living on was far more important.

Necessity dictated small apartments that could be cleared quickly, short leases, no Facebooks or Snapchats under any circumstances, cashier jobs in sprawling shopping centers where they would be easily forgotten, and a complete disregard for strangers that never extended past a simple “Hello,” “How’s the weather?” or “Do you happen to have a phone charger?” Invisibility became performance art, and spectators only marvelled at their ability to vanish long enough for the new neighbors and coworkers to filter in and fill the gaps.

The illusion was one that couldn’t be broken, and this was something they both learned was crucial to their existence. Local newspapers, national news stations, law enforcement, and even government officials were truly drawn to cases of a young man miraculously surviving a gunshot wound to the head after a mugging, or cases of a young couple living in an unassuming neighborhood who hadn’t gotten a day older in the twenty years they’d been in the neighborhood. Attention wasn’t something either of them reacted well to, and they quickly discovered that it was better to not leave impressions that were lasting. Escaping cities, dying hair, changing names, and starting over was always such tedious work

But Ridley shared the Instagram profile he just created with his coworker at the bar, the lease to their apartment was extended yesterday, and Eleanor probably got her raise today. The barista at the Starbucks downstairs actually knew his order by heart now and didn’t need to ask him for his name before she wrote it on the side of the cup. Eleanor said she actually went out for lunch with her boss last week and asked him about his kids and his wife. He asked her about Ridley and about how she was liking the city. At the end of the day, they’d sit on the couch, split a bottle that Ridley stole from the bar, and laugh at how absolutely simple transparency seemed in practice.

However, transparency, like all mortal things, needed to come to a definitive end.

“Alright, Elle. New drink. Need you to try it.”

Eleanor was marking up a manuscript on the kitchen table and didn’t look up from her work. “If it has vodka in it, get it the fuck away from me.”

Ridley placed the Target bag on top of the kitchen table and pulled out an industrial sized bottle of Drano. He reached behind him and pulled out two glasses from the dish rack. “Not that kind of drink, babe.”

“Oh, God,” Eleanor groaned. She pushed her papers to the side and pulled out the bottle of Clorox from the bag. “Did we not already establish that poisoning doesn’t work?”

“No,” Ridley corrected. “We established that arsenic, cyanide, and hemlock doesn’t work.” He carefully measured out two parts Drano, one part Clorox. The smell made Ridley feel like all of the hair on in the inside of his nose had just burned off, but he grabbed two spoons and mixed together the vile cocktail in the hopes that combining the two flavors would make for a doubly lethal combination. It was his hope that bathroom cleaners and liquors had this quality in common.

“So, we’re downing drain cleaner and bleach?”

Ridley pulled a third bottle out of the bag, uncapped it, and poured into each of the cups. “And a little triple sec for flavor.”

Eleanor wrinkled her nose and grabbed one of the cups. “You couldn’t have chased this with something pleasant like….cranberry juice or something?”

“Ah, yes,” Ridley teased. “Little Ellie doesn’t like taking things straight.”

“It isn’t that, it’s just….shit. Is this even going to work?”

Ridley capped all of the bottles and sat down in the chair next to Eleanor, grabbing his own cup. “I don’t know. I’ll be happy with a burned esophagus and a violent stomach ache at this point.”

Eleanor’s eyes scanned the chemical ingredients on the backs of the bottles, and Ridley kindly indulged her. If they tried nothing, there was a one hundred percent chance that nothing would happen. Doing something, no matter how futile it seemed after countless failed experiments, at least lowered that percentage a bit. Doing nothing ironically ruined the entire spirit of their new sedentary lifestyle. The rationale was to create an effective fear tactic — a potent form of motivation. The longer they went without results, the more likely it would be that people would begin to notice that Eleanor never wrinkled and Ridley never lost his hair. Neither was willing to go down that road again.

Sighing in reluctance, Eleanor lifted her glass towards Riley. “Alright. We’ll make it a toast then.”

Ridley smiled crookedly and began to pick up his cup before he held his hand up. “Wait, wait! Real quick first.”

Ridley cradled Eleanor’s jaw in his hands and pulled her in for a short, sweet kiss, taking a moment to revel in the feel of Eleanor’s bottom lip gently caught in between of his. He whispered against her lips. “Just in case this actually does work...I love you.”

Eleanor rubbed her nose against his own. “I love you too, Rid.”

He hooked his elbow with Eleanor’s as they both stared at each other over the tops of their cups. “Alright,” Ridley announced. “Bottoms up, cutie.”

Unlike their past poisoning efforts, this concoction was painful from beginning to end. Ridley immediately felt the lining of his esophagus being stripped raw and could feel the cleaners fighting their way through his throat. He was able to follow the pain all the way from his tongue, deep into his chest, and splashing around in his stomach. Eleanor’s glass had already cracked against floor and he could hear her gagging, coughing, and gasping. Ridley felt his entire body seize as he felt a crippling, burning pain radiate through his abdomen. His hands pressed against his stomach, and a particularly potent wave of pain sent him collapsing out of his chair and onto the kitchen floor. His insides felt like they’d been pulled out and exposed to the cold air. He could see Eleanor from the corner of his eye wrapping her hands around her throat and struggling to speak.

Ridley kicked his boot against her shin until she was looking at him. He stuck his fingers into the back of his throat and waited for her to do the same. They both struggled to pull themselves up with the help of the counter before they emptied their stomachs into the sink. It was a mix of the cleaning fluids, bile, and food. The smell itself was enough to make Ridley want to pass out onto the floor and hope that some higher power would take pity on his stupidity and put him out of his misery. But as Ridley hung his head over the sink and finally rid himself of everything that his stomach was holding, he started to feel the burning give way for the soothing reparations that his body was rapidly attempting to enact.

Eleanor sat on the ground with her back against the cabinets and Ridley watched her swallow and work the muscles in her throat. Ridley couldn’t feel the pain in his chest any longer, and suddenly breathing wasn’t a laboriously excruciating process anymore. He cleared his throat a few times and waited five more minutes for the mucous lining in his esophagus to reform. He hummed a few times and sung a few bars of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star until his voice had fully returned.

Eleanor was the first to speak. “You’re a motherfucking idiot.”

Somehow, the expletive made Ridley laugh desperately, like someone had told a horrible joke that was so bad he had to laugh. He joined Eleanor on the floor and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Okay, so Drano was a bad idea.”

She muttered something under her breath that Ridley didn’t quite hear. She swallowed a few more times, probably still trying to get a feel for her throat. “Maybe we should just chug a bottle of Everclear.”

Ridley snorted. “If Drano didn’t work, the fuck makes you think Everclear will?”

“I don’t. But at least we’ll be drunk as all Hell afterwards. Sounds a lot more pleasant to me.”

“Maybe we can do it this weekend. Celebrate your raise.”

Eleanor nodded to herself and rested her head against Ridley’s shoulder. She grabbed for his hand, linked their fingers together, and rested them both on her lap. “You know for a second I thought it was gonna work.”

Ridley pressed his lips to the top of Eleanor’s head and placed a few kisses there. “We’ll figure it out, Elle. I promise.”

Ridley had just finished working three all-nighters in a row at the bar, and Eleanor had a perfectly awful weekend after trying to collect all of her final manuscripts in time so that she could submit them to her editor for their monthly issue. He couldn’t remember the last time they went on a date — you tend to take those things for granted when you’ve been with someone for so long. Ridley turned off Eleanor’s alarm clock and let her sleep in on Monday. He made pancakes and even added those gross white chocolate chips she liked so much. They snuggled in bed together and tried to clear through all of the episodes and long movies that had been cluttering their DVR for weeks. When the evening rolled around, Ridley told Eleanor to throw on something sexy. He took her to a French bistro that he came upon on his walk back from work one day.

After dinner, they ran to the park across the street, laid out their jackets on the grass, and stared at the city skyline and the horizon while they waited for it to grow dark.

“You’re lucky it’s the day after the issue got sent to the printers,” Eleanor said. “I can’t always skip work to go on dorky dates with you.”

Ridley shrugged. “You looked like you needed it. Besides, excuse the fuck out of me if I felt like being romantic. Who knows how many more opportunities we’re gonna have for mundane shit like dates?”

“So you’re trying to get in all the corniness while you can?”

“If we’re gonna go all Shakespearean soon, then yeah. I’m gonna be a dork about dates. And your ungrateful ass is going to go on all of them, and you’re gonna love the shit out of all of them because I spent so much time planning them.”

“The day you plan a trip to fucking Disney World and propose to me in front of a thousand Mickey Mouse’s dancing to Beyonce, then I’ll be impressed. You’ve been around for how many years? You have to up your game.”

“We’ve only known each other for ninety two years. You’re not ready for Disney World.”

Eleanor’s bubbling laughter caused the heads of other couples in the park to turn their heads, but Ridley merely pulled Eleanor closer to him, kissed the side of her neck, and let her bury her face into the collar of his coat. His fingers were raking through her hair, occasionally massaging her scalp in that way he knew she liked so much. Her breath was warm against his neck, and he could feel Eleanor’s fingers sliding carefully and lightly over the back of his hand resting across his stomach. Ridley stared down at Eleanor’s gloves and smiled when he noticed that she’d cut the fingertips off again and that she was still wearing that charm bracelet he had gotten her in Spain back in the 20s.

They laid in the grass for a while, and Ridley swore that Eleanor was asleep against him. But just as he was about to doze off himself, Eleanor muttered into his jacket. “Would you be mad if I brought up something serious?”

Ridley shivered when her voice vibrated against his skin, but he shook his head. “How serious are we talking?”

Eleanor curled her fingers around the lapel of his jacket and held it close to her nose, just like she does with her blankets at night. “...I saw...well, I thought I saw someone I knew. This weekend. Like at work.”

Ridley’s hand stopped in her hair for a moment before continuing to run his fingers through it, this time more slowly. “Who did you think you saw?”

“Peter. You know. One of the New York Times writers that I met in the 1860s.”

Ridley rifled through his mind for the name. “...you never told me about a Peter.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I would have remembered that.”

Eleanor told him that she had almost married Peter, and that the two of them had plans to move out of the city, to own a house in the suburbs, to have six kids. But it was around that time when Peter was starting to become far sighted, and was perplexed by the fact that Eleanor was able to keep so young for him. She escaped to Los Angeles and stayed there until she met Ridley.

It was the first time he was hearing it.

“I was in the office working late on the manuscripts,” she began. “But the department was showing around all the new interns and I almost swore that it was him. I mean, it couldn’t have been, obviously, but...they had the same face, Rids. It was the same face.”

There was something wistful in her voice that Ridley wasn’t sure if he liked. It made him feel like he was being left out of some pertinent secret, one that clearly wasn’t necessary for him to know. “Who was the kid?” Ridley asked. “Grandson?”

“Great grandson,” Eleanor corrected. “I asked if his family was ever involved in publishing and he mentioned Grandpa Peter who worked for the New York Times.” He heard Eleanor sniff but he decided not to comment on it. “The jawline was the same. The dimples were in the same place. Peter was a little taller, but I thought I was going to run up to this stranger and just…”

Eleanor trailed off and Ridley didn’t know if he wanted to know how she was going to finish the sentence. “Did you do anything else?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I tried to reach out for him at one point — touch his jawline, or just feel his cheeks in my hands again, but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want the guy to think I was some freak or anything. He didn’t know me.”

Ridley never ran into any old flames and had decided that forgetting about his family and not following them would be less painful in the long run. Eleanor had done something similar with her own family. But he wondered now if Eleanor’s mood today was due to more than just being tired from a hectic weekend at the office. Peter would have been her husband had she not been frozen in time like this. It must have been like seeing someone back from the dead, just as perfect and just as familiar as they were over a hundred years ago. So perfect, perhaps, that even speaking his name out loud was sullying some pristine memory of him that Eleanor had hoped to keep. It was clearly so precious that even Ridley didn’t know.

Ridley pulled Eleanor closer. “Is he…?”

Eleanor hummed into his neck. “I went back and checked the obituaries. He’s been dead for years.” Her voice was shaking and it sounded thick from all of her tears. “I mean, I knew, Ridley, I did, but I just...it’s not fucking fair, you know?.”

He was pressing kisses against her temples and curling locks of her hair around his fingers. “I know, Eleanor. We didn’t ask for this.”

Her laugh sounded bitter when he said that, but she didn’t respond to him. Instead they stayed out in the park until the sun disappeared behind the skyline and the park lights starts to flicker on and light up their lounging spot with warm, artificial light. There was a strange ache festering in Ridley’s chest, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or scream.

Ridley was wrapping half of Eleanor’s scarf around his own neck when he felt her smiling into her shoulder, talking as if he wasn’t even there. “I had already picked out my wedding dress. It was going to be a wedding in the garden of his mother’s house. I was going to have four bridesmaids and a flower girl. I wanted everything to be pink. And the cake had to be chocolate, I told him. Otherwise I wouldn’t eat it.”

It was a Friday night and Ridley was about to get ready to head out to the bar when he finally heard the sound of Eleanor’s stockinged feet padding down the hallway.

“What’s up, babe?” he asked. He was stuffing his keys into his pocket as he stood facing Eleanor, waiting for her to say something. She looked like she hadn’t washed her hair in a couple of days and she was chewing on her thumb nail. She was staring at the floor by his feet instead of at him, and he wondered if she had just woken up from a nap or was just exhausted from work.

Eleanor cleared her throat and spoke quietly. “I had another idea...you know, one that might actually work.”

Ridley felt his eyes widen. He looked up at the clock hanging above the doorway to the living room and sighed. He was talking to her as he stuffed his keys into his pocket and hurried to the front door. “Look, that’s great, Elle, but can we do this later? I have to run to work and there’s—”

“What’s more important, Ridley?” Eleanor said, raising her voice. “Your stupid fucking job or finally ending things?”

“I don’t have time to be fucking shooting myself in the dick or trying to shank myself in the eye, Elle. I have work tonight, alright?”

“No you don’t,” Eleanor told him. “I already called in for you. You’re sick. You’re not coming in.”

Ridley cursed under his breathe and threw his keys from his pocket and down roughly on the glass coffee table. “What the fuck, Elle?” he asked tiredly. “It’s a huge ass tip night, you’re not doing this to me.”

“What, so it’s okay for you to call me out of work for a stupid date but I can’t do it for you when it’s actually something important?”

“Yeah, speaking of that stupid date, you’ve been acting like a fucking mental case ever since we came back from it. More shit that you forgot to tell me lately? What is this, another burning secret that you only now decided to spit up? Come on! What is it?”

Eleanor started grinding her teeth together and refused to meet his eyes. Ridley’s hands came up to cover his face. “Ellie, for fuck’s sake, whatever you have this time around is still going to be there when I get back. I need to go.”

“You can’t go,” she said slowly for him, “because I need your help with this one.”

Ridley sighed in exasperation, shed his jacket, and threw it on the couch. He made a show of sitting down on the couch, crossing his ankle over his knee, and leaning his elbows on the back of it. “Alright. Fine. What do you need help with?”

It looked like she wanted to curse him out again or at the very least just walk away and forget she had said anything to him, but she was tapping her toes against the linoleum like she really wanted to say something. Eleanor was still leaning against the doorway, and when she finally stepped away from it and walked into the kitchen, Ridley heard the dull, heavy dragging noise before he saw it. Eleanor rounded the island table in the middle of the kitchen and lifted the head of the axe so that it was being cradled in the palm of her other hand. She looked down and twirled the handle a few times before she sighed and thrust the axe in his direction. “I figured we should just Jeffrey Dahmer this shit.”

Ridley felt his heart drop when he looked at the outdoor axe cradled in her hands like it was nothing out of the ordinary, just something she had picked up on her way home. At first, he thought it was some joke that she was playing on him. They did that sort of thing with each other all the time. Like that time Ridley suggested they act out the entirety of the last act of Romeo and Juliet just to give the newspapers something to chew on for a while. Morbidity was something that the two of them traded back and forth almost too easily, but Eleanor wasn’t laughing. She was waiting for him to pick up the axe.

But Ridley could already feel himself shaking his head. “Fuck you, Eleanor, I’m not doing that.”

Eleanor sighed like she was talking to a child. “Ridley. We’ve tried everything else. Drowning, suffocating, poison, running in front of eighteen wheelers, I mean, I can’t think of anything else. Can you?”

“We said,” Ridley enunciated carefully. “We fucking said. That we weren’t doing this. Either we go out together or we don’t go out at all. I’m not killing you, Elle.”

It was one of the things that they insisted on earlier when they agreed to actively pursue their deaths. They had to do it together — the same way at the same time. They had made a map of all the methods that they could systematically go through until they achieved an end. But on that night when they were filling legal pads up with ideas, there was one that Ridley immediately told Eleanor to scrap because he refused to have either of them take part in it, and it partly included Eleanor walking into their living room trying to put an axe into Ridley’s hands. The harsh reality of that method was that, while it was the one method that seemed almost fool proof, it required that one person be alive to actually commit it. You couldn’t exactly ask your neighbors to help chop you up into bits.

Which meant that one of them was going to survive this and be alone.

“Elle, no,” Ridley repeated once more. “What did I tell you when I found out that you were like me? What did I say?”

Eleanor swallowed and stared down at her feet. “You said that you didn’t care if I hated you or if you disgusted me. You weren’t letting me out of your sight.”

“Exactly,” Ridley said. “That hasn’t changed, Eleanor. It was always the two of us versus everyone else. No one else understood us. No one else knew what we were. No one else knew how we lived. That’s been us, Elle, just us. It’s always going to be us. I’m not fucking killing you.”

Eleanor was running her hand through her hair in frustration. “Ridley, we’re running out of options. We can only stay here so long. People are going to realize we aren’t aging soon. We said we’d do this.”

“Not this. We’re not doing this.”

“...what if I did it to you instead?”

“God, don’t be so fucking stupid, Eleanor!” Ridley shouted. “Did you even think about what we’d have to do once one of us kills the other? I’m not going to start pulling out trash bags and stuffing them in dumpsters in order to hide your body. I’m not leaving without you. Besides, who the fuck am I going to get to chop me up if it actually does work?”

Eleanor looked like she was going to scream something back at him, but her mouth closed shut like a latch. He could see the small shine in her eyes like she was about ready to cry, and for a moment she looked a little bit younger than she usually did. Something about her seemed smaller, quieter, and a little bit more desperate than usual, and her entire body seemed like it wanted to curl in on itself. It was the first time that he’d ever seen her look another age than the one she would always be until the day she died, and he tried to think back to moments in his life where he’d ever felt as small as she looked. Back before they destroyed all photos of themselves, Eleanor had shown Ridley all of the black and white photos that her father had taken of her growing up, and Ridley swore that if he still had the photos of Eleanor when she was ten years old, he’d find fifty different things in common.

But Eleanor lifted her chin, blinked a few times, and looked right at Ridley, looking just as old as she always did. “I’m tired, Ridley,” she muttered. “I’m just really tired.”

Ridley couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t feel tired. There were hazy distant memories of expensive trips to Europe, long summers spent in beachside hotels, fearless forays into unknown countries, wonderful food, breathtaking sights, and kisses that were chilling and deep because of the knowledge that they didn’t have to end. They were warm, comfortable thoughts that spoke of simpler times that seemed like they’d stretch on forever without any signs of fizzling out.

But as he got older, his mind perceived time differently, and it seemed like time passed by him more and more quickly. It soon got to the point where Ridley marked months like days and found fewer and fewer things in life that surprised him. When you’re alive long enough, nothing is surprising, and nothing is new. He held onto small things like Eleanor wearing a different pair of shoes every day for two weeks at a time, Eleanor braiding her hair on different sides of her head everyday, walking to the bar using a different route every day, moving cities every decade or so to see something new or breathe in air he hadn’t touched yet.

Death was only terrifying because of the pervasive fear that there is something left on Earth that hadn’t been seen, hadn’t been said, hadn’t been finished. But Ridley had been living on repeats and rehashes for as long as he could remember, and he’s sure Eleanor had too.

Ridley stood up from the couch, grabbed the head of the axe, and flipped it so that he was holding it by the handle. “I don’t want to do this.”

Eleanor nodded. “I know you don’t.”

Ridley leaned the axe against the couch, wrapped one of his arms around Eleanor’s waist, and kissed her. Her hands were cupping his jaw, and her fingernails were gently scraping across his cheeks. He leaned their foreheads together and revelled in the feel of her breath mixing with his. He paused to appreciate her smell, the feel of her waist that was still tiny enough for him to wrap his whole arm around, the sound of her breathing, the thin, downy feel of her hair.

He stepped away from her, and Eleanor was already eyeing the axe, expecting him to pick it up. But Ridley walked back to the kitchen and left Eleanor standing in the living room. He started searching through the drawers and cabinets until he found his revolver and his case of .38 Special’s. He plucked one bullet out of the box, opened the chamber, and loaded the gun. He walked back into the living room in time for Eleanor to see him spin the barrel with his eyes closed and click the chamber shut once the barrel stopped spinning. He held the gun out to her. “Ladies first.”

Eleanor stared down at the gun. “What is this?”

“We’re being fair about this,” Ridley said. “Whoever wins gets to die.”

“This isn’t a fucking game, Ridley!”

“I’m not treating it like one,” Ridley insisted. “If we didn’t choose coming in, then I don’t want to choose coming out.”

Eleanor glared at the gun. “Since when are you such a fan of symmetry?”

Ridley shrugged. “If you want me to do this for you, you better hope your luck is on its shit today.”

He waved the gun back and forth, balancing it on his index finger by the trigger until Eleanor finally grabbed the gun from him. There was a moment’s hesitation when she looked at the axe leaning against the couch before pulling her eyes back to the gun in her hands. But she pulled her hair out of her face and stepped back until she was half a foot away from him. Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment, breathed in deeply through her nose, and finally brought the gun up to her temple. For the first time since the two of them had started playing this game out of boredom, Eleanor looked positively frightened.

“We’re only doing one round,” Eleanor told him.

Ridley nodded. “That’s fine with me.”

“And we have to respect the outcome. No matter who wins. Can we both agree on that?”

“Of course,” Ridley promised. “Like I said. This is only fair.”

Eleanor’s breath came out shaky and the hand that was holding the gun was shaking slightly. “Okay.”

Ridley smiled. “Just in case this actually works. I love you.”

Eleanor nibbled on her bottom lip and cocked the gun. “I love you, too.”

She pulled the trigger.